


memories like fingerprints are slowly raising

by estrella30



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Established Relationship, M/M, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Louis said Zayn called him after Harry woke up. Harry’d gone to see Zayn first in the morning and was asking him all kinds of questions about the tattoos that he’s gotten that Zayn knew Harry had seen. He figured Harry was just taking the piss or hungover or summat, but then Niall showed up, and Harry wanted to know where his braces were, and then they called Liam and Harry asked how his hair grew back so fast. By the time Louis got there and Harry was wondering when they were going to <i>leave to start the tour</i> they all started to freak out.” </p>
<p>or Harry gets amnesia</p>
            </blockquote>





	memories like fingerprints are slowly raising

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write a harry/nick amnesia fic FOREVER but could never figure out quite how to do it so I sent my notes to fiddleyoumust and she, NATURALLY, is amazing and helped me figure out exactly what I needed to do for it, so thank you again, babe!!
> 
> thanks to MRSRONWEASLEY for reading this through and, when I asked her for a last line, prompted me to write two thousand more words. BEST. (seriously, though, sigh, YOU WERE RIGHT. THANK YOU, LADY <3)
> 
> thanks to jessypt for the beta and mouse555 for the britpick! any remaining mistakes are my own!
> 
> please note I know nothing about head injuries or amnesia or anything of the sort. all of this is fiction in the most fictional sense.

i just want to scream...hello...  
my god its been so long, never dreamed you'd return  
but now here you are, and here i am  
hearts and thoughts they fade, away 

_-pearl jam_

 

*

Nick’s just settling in on the sofa with a takeaway curry and a half a bottle of chardonnay when his mobile rings. It’s nothing new that his mobile’s ringing – Nick’s actually more pressed to try and remember a time when it wasn’t ringing, not that he’s complaining – but the ringtone is set to _The Bitch is Back_ ; there’s only one person in the world twatty enough for Nick to have assigned it to.

It doesn’t matter that it’s been…way too many months to count since the last time he heard it. The second Nick hears Elton crooning that _he’s a bitch, he’s a bitch, he’s a bitch and he’s back_ , his stomach drops, and his mouth goes suddenly dry. 

That ringtone is for Louis, and the only reason he’d be calling Nick is if something is wrong with Harry.

“Tomlinson.” Nick thumbs the mobile on and tries to keep his voice steady and nonchalant. Maybe this is nothing. Maybe it’s just Louis calling to torture Nick in a free moment or to take the piss about something. Nick closes his eyes and desperately hopes that that’s the case.

“Grimshaw,” Louis says. It seems like he’s trying for casual, but Nick can hear the tremble in his voice. 

Dread curls ice cold up Nick’s spine. He shoves the takeaway to the side of the table, bypasses the wine glass he’d brought out, and takes a healthy swig from the bottle instead. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to not freak out,” Louis says calmly. Nick snorts and presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “I’m serious, Grimshaw. If I think you’re going to be a fucking twat about this I’ll just—“

“Louis.” Nick’s trying to keep his voice level, but all he can think is that Harry’s hurt. That’s the only reason Louis would be calling. He’s either hurt or missing, or, Christ, _kidnapped_ maybe. Maybe he’s lost a limb or his head’s been lopped off by a crazed fan or, or—

“Nick, he’s ok,” Louis says quietly, and Nick feels his heart rate drop slightly. Now there’s only a five hundred thousand percent chance he’ll have a heart attack and die from this conversation instead of twelve billion. “Well, I mean, he’s mostly ok. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Louis,” Nick says firmly. He swigs more of the bottle of wine and glares at the mobile as if that can convince Louis to speed up the process of telling Nick what’s happening. He just – he needs to know what’s happened to Harry, good or bad. He can’t not know. “Tell me what’s going on.”

So Louis does. 

*

“My God, Grimmy.” Aimee’s eyes are wide, and her mouth is hanging open. She’s in a bright yellow t-shirt that Nick is fairly sure is Ian’s and a pair of black and white striped tracksuit pants, Thurston curled up in a ball at her feet on the kitchen floor. “He’s got _amnesia_?”

“Apparently,” Nick says, still trying and failing to be okay about this all. He just – he knows what Louis said – he understands the idea of _partial memory loss_ and _most likely no long term affects_ , but the idea of Harry not knowing what’s happened to him, being hurt or confused or upset or scared has Nick’s gut twisted in knots. He gets up from the table and fumbles around in the fridge for another bottle of wine. 

“Did they say what happened?” Aimee keeps her eyes on Nick as she leans over to scratch Thurston behind the ears. Thurston whines a little and kicks his leg out. “Like did he just wake up today and—“

“No, it was from the show last night.” Nick had actually seen something about it on the internet this morning. The Sun had a cheeky headline about _Squashed Direction_ , and there was a picture of Harry lying flat on his back on the stage in Los Angeles. Apparently some huge piece of their set had fallen on his head toward the end of the show. 

Nick had been worried for a bit until he’d read that Harry’d gotten back up and finished the concert perfectly fine, all the papers claiming he’d been no worse for wear. Harry’s gotten hit in the head and blown in the face with steam and nearly fallen off the stage more times on this tour than anyone known to man. No one thought anything of the head bump at all. 

“According to Louis he was fine after that beam hit him; a little sore but nothing terrible. They all went out for drinks after the show, and then Harry went to his room when they got back to the hotel. They all did,” Nick tells Aimee. She’s nodding along, completely silent. Nick realizes how grave the situation is when she’s not tried to interrupt him once. “Then this morning he woke up and…”

Nick bites his lip. He can barely get the words out; how freaked out Louis sounded when he was explaining what Harry was like that morning, how scared he still sounded when he phoned Nick hours after it had even happened.

“Louis said Zayn called him after Harry woke up. Harry’d gone to see Zayn first in the morning and was asking him all kinds of questions about the tattoos that he’s gotten that Zayn knew Harry had seen. He figured Harry was just taking the piss or hungover or summat, but then Niall showed up, and Harry wanted to know where his braces were, and then they called Liam and Harry asked how his hair grew back so fast. By the time Louis got there and Harry was wondering when they were going to _leave to start the tour_ they all started to freak out.” 

Aimee is quiet then breathes out a soft, “Fuck.” She takes the glass of wine Nick hands her and drains half of it in one go. “Did they say how long it’s going to last? Or do they have to like, keep him there or something?”

“They don’t really know,” Nick says, shaking his head. “Other than the memory loss he’s fine, so they’re letting him come home tomorrow. They don’t know if it’s like, just for a few days or something more permanent or what.”

Nick can’t even begin to process it, what it must feel like to have months of your memory stripped away. Nick would be freaking out. 

“Did Louis say how Harry was handling it?”

Nick snorts out a short laugh. “According to Louis, Harry is fine.” Aimee smiles a little and Nick knows the feeling. Nick’s always joked that Harry’s foot could be on fire, and Harry wouldn’t move fast enough to even put out the flame. He’s the most relaxed person Nick’s ever met in his entire life. The idea that Harry’s lost part of his memory and is still happy and polite and disgustingly charming, according to Louis, doesn’t surprise him at all. 

“He said Harry was a little sore but ok with the diagnosis. He figures everything will come back to him when he gets home and gets some sleep.”

Aimee is watching him with careful eyes. She sips her drink and leans forward over the table into Nick’s space a bit more. “And exactly how much time did he lose from his memory? Like, how many months?”

Nick takes a deep breath and stares up at the ceiling. There’s a cobweb in the left corner of the room. Nick should really get to cleaning that one day. 

“Six or so,” Nick says quietly. “Just about six.”

Aimee doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and takes Nick’s hand and squeezes. 

*

“All right, so. Change of plans.”

Nick’s on his way home from the station when his mobile starts singing Louis’ ringtone, and Nick nearly drives off the side of the road. 

“What?” Nick pulls the car over and puts on his flashers. The truck coming up from behind him beeps its horn, and Nick jauntily waves at the driver from his window. 

“Harry wants to come to yours,” Louis says, and Nick can’t help it—he actually starts to choke. 

“He what? Louis, he can’t, we—“

“Listen, mate, I know as well as you do why it’s not a great idea for Harry to come to yours. Hell, we _all_ think it’s a terrible idea. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Nick grunts a little. He can’t even imagine trying to deal with the angry wrath of the whole of One Direction. It’s never happened before, but he imagines it to be kind of like putting a bunch of puppies on a box with only one chew toy, then watching them climb all over each other, biting tails and yipping loudly as they each try and get their teeth into the toy first. 

In this scenario Nick imagines himself to be the chew toy, and not in a sexy way. 

“The problem is that _Harry_ doesn’t think it’s a bad idea, because _Harry_ is stuck somewhere in six month ago land when you weren’t a complete and utter fucking _twat_ , and no amount of us telling him to just go home and get some rest is working.”

And there’s the core of it all. That’s what Nick’s been wondering since Louis called and told him what’s going on. He’s been half afraid to know the answer, but now that he does it makes it all worse. So, so, so much worse. 

“So he wants to come to mine because—“

“Because six month ago Harry was practically living with you and more than half in love with you, and I swear to Christ, Nick, if you fucking hurt him again—” Louis stops short. Nick can hear someone’s voice in the background, calm and soothing. It’s probably Liam, Nick thinks inanely. Liam or Zayn most likely. 

“I’m on my way home right now,” Nick says quietly. “Have him meet me there; it’s fine.”

Louis is quiet for so long that Nick would think the call was dropped if he couldn’t still somehow hear Louis seething from the other end of the line. Just as Nick’s about to ask if Louis has anything else to tell him, his voice comes back, soft and sad. “Just – just play along with him for a bit, yeah, Nick? He’s so happy because he’s getting to see you. _Can’t wait to get home and see Nick again_ , he keeps saying, and he’s smiling and he’s just – he’s not been smiling like this in so long. Maybe let him remember things on his own, all right? I’m sure it’ll come back eventually, but maybe try not to break his heart again right away.”

Nick wants to scream and cry and throw up all at once. He drops his head against the steering wheel and bangs it a few times. “I’m not…Louis, I won’t—“

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before, Grimshaw,” Louis says dryly. “Just go to yours, and we’ll be there in a bit,” he says and rings off. Nick sits quietly in the car for a few more minutes before pulling onto the road and heading home.

*

When the doorbell rings Nick is nowhere near to ready. He’s been pacing the flat all day since he got back, waiting for Harry and wondering why he didn’t think to ask Louis for any kind of general timeframe as to when they’d be getting there. 

He’s just about to make himself a third cup of tea when the doorbell rings, and Nick drops the kettle into the sink with a loud clang. He rushes to the door, wiping his hands on his jeans as he goes, and when he pulls it open he’s met with Harry’s beaming face and the frowns of all four of the others. 

Lovely. 

“Nick!” Harry’s grinning wider and brighter than Nick remembers ever seeing. He’s got a small bandage taped to his right temple, but other than that if you saw him you’d never think anything was wrong with him at all. His hair is pushed back into a bright blue beanie, and he’s in a low slung white tank top and a pair of jeans that look to be so tight Nick’s wondering if he had them painted on somewhere in the States and just hasn’t managed to get them off yet. 

“Hey, Harry,” Nick says gently. He steps to the side to let Harry in, the others parading in behind him, all aiming death glares in Nick’s direction. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel great,” Harry says. His eyes are bright, and his mouth is curved in a deep smile. Nick suddenly misses him with an ache that’s a physical pain to his chest. He thought he realized how much he missed Harry when Harry had been away, but seeing him now is making it even worse somehow. Having Harry here, smiling at him and pulling Nick in close for a hug might be the most devastating thing to have ever happened to him. Nick is crumbling. 

“Sorry about having to ring the bell, but I couldn’t find my key,” Harry says, pressing his lips against Nick’s cheek before pulling back. Nick’s body is going into sensory overload; Harry’s hands on his waist, his mouth on Nick’s skin. Nick wants to pull Harry close and never let him go and shove him away and lock him out forever in equal measure. 

“No worries,” Nick says evenly. His mind flashes to a picture of Harry six months earlier; skin pale, eyes damp, carefully laying Nick’s key on the counter as he walked out all those months ago. Nick took the key when he left, dug it into his palm until the groove made dents in his skin, put it in the bottom of a box where he’d never have to see it again, and closed the lid. “I’m sure you just misplaced it sometime on the tour.”

Harry doesn’t notice the way Louis eyes narrow, or the way Zayn glares at Nick and mutters, “Yeah, I’m sure it was something like that.”

Harry drops his bag in the hallway and wanders into the kitchen as if everything is perfectly normal, as if this is exactly what he should be doing after getting back from a tour. Nick’s eyes sting, and the back of his throat burns. He hears Harry call out, “Oh, hey, you cleared off the fridge. It looks good,” and Nick realizes it’s so empty because he’s taken down all the pictures of the two of them together they used to have tacked up there. There are no more receipts from shopping trips or movie stubs or anything on there at all now; just smooth stainless steel and a reminder card for Nick’s next dentist appointment. 

“I don’t actually think I can stand here and listen to him,” Liam says to Louis quietly. “He’s killing me.”

Louis whips his head around to glare at Nick, his arm curling around Liam’s waist and tugging him in close. “Are you going to be ok with him? Really, Nick. Because if you’re not we can—“

“It’ll be fine,” Nick rushes to assure him. They all stare at him dubiously – Liam and Louis and Zayn who’s still glaring. Even Niall has a bit of a frown curving his mouth – and Nick hastens to add, “I want to do it. I want to take care of him.”

“Nick, babe, you want a cuppa?” Harry calls from the kitchen. “The kettle’s in the sink. I’m going to fill it all right?”

“Yeah, Haz, that’d be great.”

Niall cocks his head to the side and stares at Nick evenly. “You hurt him again, and I’m gonna chop your fucking dick off.”

Nick huffs a little and runs his hand through his hair. “I certainly wouldn’t want that, Mr. Horan.”

The four of them hover around for another few minutes, until Harry comes from the kitchen with two mugs in his huge hands and hands one over to Nick. It’s fixed exactly how he drinks it, and it’s ridiculous and stupid but Nick takes a small sip and wants to cry. 

“Sorry, lads, I didn’t even think to ask. Any of you want a cuppa?” Harry grins at his bandmates, but they all shake him off, giving him quick hugs and glaring menacingly at Nick as they wander towards the door. 

“I’m not kidding, Grimshaw,” Louis threatens one last time. “Don’t fuck this up.”

“You ok, Lou?” Harry asks. He’s come over and is standing next to Nick, an arm slung casually around Nick’s shoulder. Nick knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop himself from leaning into Harry’s side. 

Louis grins evilly and pinches Nick’s nipple on the way out. “Just saying goodbye to my good pal, Nick.” 

The lads all leave in a flurry of goodbyes and pats on the backs and hugs, and Nick hangs back, amazed again at how much Harry’s band loves him. He’s never questioned it, but it serves as a reminder, sharp and painful, of how good they are to him and how much they worry about him. By the time they’re gone and the flat is quiet again, Nick feels antsy and on edge, ready to jump from his own skin when Harry comes closer, fitting his fingers over the curve of Nick’s hip. 

“Hi.” Harry grins, taking off his beanie, and yanks out the headband holding back his hair. It falls in a tangle of curls and knots around his face. Nick can’t stop himself from reaching out and tucking a piece behind Harry’s ear.

“Hiya, popstar,” Nick says quietly. 

“I’ve missed you,” Harry tells him, and oh. Nick closes his eyes. This is going to be even worse than he expected. 

He takes a deep breath and licks his lips. Harry’s watching him curiously, his eyes dark and shining green, and Nick can’t lie, can’t look at Harry and think about telling him anything but the truth. 

“I’ve missed you, too.”

*

Nick orders a pizza and lets Harry take a shower without hovering too much in the hall, waiting for any kind of crash or indication that Harry’s fallen over in the tub. He’s been trying to relax, keeps telling himself that this is fine, everything is fine, but the way his mobile has been blowing up with text message after text message from Louis begs to differ. 

_Is he doing all right??_

_Has he eaten???_

_Did you say anything to upset him??_

_If you fuck him before telling him what a prick you are I’ll chop your dick off myself_

It’s the last one that has Nick finally texting back, _Of course I’m not going to fuck him. What the hell kind of person do you think I am?_.

_Don’t make me answer that mate > : ( _ Louis sends back and Nick turns his mobile off. Louis Tomlinson can just piss off for the rest of the night. 

Harry pads into the kitchen in a pair of old joggers and a t-shirt that Nick is fairly sure was his before Harry nicked it and stole it away for tour. His hair is damp, and the skin around his eyes is puffy and bruised looking. He’d taken off the bandage from his head before showering, and Nick can see the welt there, the angry red mark on his head. 

He reaches out to touch it, and Harry winces when his fingers brush over the bump. 

“Sorry, ‘s’just really sore,” Harry says quietly. 

Nick nods. He’s trying to look away from Harry’s face, away from his eyes, but he’s not had Harry here for so long. He’s missed him _so much_ , and this is just – this is actually killing him. 

“How are you really, Haz?” he asks, because he knows Harry. Harry will tell him the truth (or at least this Harry, the old Harry would tell Nick the truth. Nick’s not so sure about what the Harry from now would do if he were really here. He’s trying not to think about it too much.) 

Harry shrugs. He bites his lip and sighs tiredly, running the tips of his fingers back and forth over the waistband of Nick’s jeans. Nick takes the smallest step back, and Harry frowns. 

“I’m okay, I guess. It’s weird knowing I’m missing like, months of things that have happened, but the doctors say it’ll come back soon enough so whatever. It’s fine.” He lifts his head and grins at Nick brightly. “Good that I’m home now, yeah?”

Nick swallows down the lump that’s trying to claw its way out of his throat and forces a smile. 

“Much better, yeah.”

*

Nick wakes before his alarm and kicks the blanket off the bottom half of his legs. He stretches out on the sofa, trying to work out the crick in his neck from sleeping hunched over into the cushions all night, and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

It’s chilly in the flat, and Nick rubs his hands over his arms and pads over to the thermostat to kick the heat on. He sees Harry’s rucksack where he left it on the floor the night before. After a split second of hesitation, picks it up and brings it with him into the bedroom, so Harry can get to his things easier when he needs them. 

He tries not to think about the last time Harry’s bag had been in his flat, tries not to remember Harry haphazardly stuffing his shirts and jeans and whatever of his things he could find into the bag, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his sleeve, trying desperately not to let Nick see how upset he really was. Nick just – he’s trying not to think about that day at all, actually. Not when Harry’s here now and needs Nick’s help.

Come to think of it, Nick’s trying not to think about a lot of things right now. Things like how Harry looks exactly like he’s looked a thousand times before, sprawled out and sleepy and rumpled under Nick’s covers. Nick hovers in the bedroom doorway just to watch him, looking just because he can. Harry’s face is smooth in sleep, the lines around his eyes gone and his chest rising and falling gently as he breathes. He snuffles a little and buries his head in the pillow on his own side of the bed, and Nick wonders if Harry can tell: if he can feel that no one’s slept there in months, that every time Nick managed to get even a few inches over it felt so wrong he’d instantly be scurrying back.

Nick tiptoes in and grabs some boxers and a towel for his shower. He thinks he’s just about made it to the bathroom without waking Harry, when he hears Harry moving around, the click of the bedside table lamp being turned on. 

“Hey.” Harry’s voice is thick with sleep. “Morning.”

Nick takes a deep breath and turns to face him, heart thumping rapidly with the familiar way Harry’s watching him. “Morning,” Nick says back, and Harry smiles slowly. 

“Why didn’t you come to bed last night?” Harry yawns and knuckles at his eyes. He’s looking at Nick like he’s genuinely curious, and that answers Nick’s question of whether or not Harry’s going to wake up this morning and remember everything. The way he’s smiling at Nick so gently pretty much assures Nick that he’s not gotten all of his memory back, not yet. Nick wishes he felt worse about that. He thinks he’s a truly terrible person for being happy that Harry still has bloody _amnesia_ , but if Nick can have just this, even a few more days with Harry looking at Nick like he still loves him, Nick will take it. 

“Was watching the telly and passed out on the couch,” Nick lies. He can’t very well tell Harry the truth, that if Harry had all of his memory back there’s no way in the world he’d have wanted Nick in bed with him, but the lie hurts; it’s bitter and sharp on his tongue. Harry believes him, though, and that’s what matters. “By the time I woke up it was already so late I just stayed out there.”

Harry’s nodding and shoving the covers back as if he means to get up. “Makes sense.” He climbs out of bed, and Nick has to look away at Harry wandering around his bedroom in just his pants, even though it’s a sight he’s seen more times than he can count. It feels different this time, wrong somehow. Nick drops his head and stares at the floor, curling his toes into the carpet so he has something to watch. 

“You need to piss before I get in the shower?”

“Yeah.” Harry passes him and stops to kiss Nick’s cheek, making his head whip up in surprise. “Sorry, had to steal a morning kiss, I guess.”

Nick licks his lips and glances away. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

If Harry thinks anything is weird he doesn’t show it, just laughs a little and squeezes Nick’s shoulder as he passes into the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute, and I’ll get your tea going, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nick says quietly. Harry closes the door, and Nick bangs his head against it until Harry’s finished. 

*

Nick has a station meeting after the show that morning, and by the time the cab is dropping him off at his flat he’s tired and drained and worried as to what he’s going to find when he walks in the door. Will Harry still be there, smiling and looking at Nick like he’s the best thing Harry’s ever seen? Will he have gotten his memory back while Nick’s been away and be busy packing up his things, hanging around only to tell Nick to piss off one more time? Will he be gone already?

Nick’s greeted with the banging of pots and pans from inside his kitchen when he opens the front door, so no, he’s not left yet at least. He drops his keys in the bowl on the table and shrugs his jacket off, slinging it over the back of a dining room chair. 

Harry’s in the kitchen, dancing around to Temper Trap on his phone while two pans of some sort of sandwiches seem to be cooking on Nick’s stove. Nick leans in the doorway and watches Harry shaking his head around and wiggling his hips and dancing barefoot on his kitchen floor. He wants to cross the room and wrap his arms around Harry and never let go. He wants to press his face into Harry’s hair and apologize until he’s run out of breath, until Harry knows Nick never really meant it, that he was wrong. 

Harry turns around then, and when he sees Nick his face splits into a wide grin. “Hi!”

Nick smiles softly. “Hey, Harry.” 

“I wasn’t sure what time you were going to be home, so I figured I’d just make some sandwiches that way they’d keep if you got home much later.”

Nick wanders over to the stove and peers at the sandwiches sizzling on the hob. His stomach rumbles, and Nick realizes he’s been so twisted up all day about everything he’s pretty much forgotten to eat since the cup of tea and slice of toast Harry made him at six in the morning. “They look great, Haz. Thanks.”

“I couldn’t find my pans.” Harry frowns, rubs a hand through his hair, a little crinkle forming between his eyes, and says, “You know the really good ones? The flat thing to make the paninis? I could swear I left it in the cabinet over the stove, but there’s nothing up there. Did you move stuff while I was away?”

Nick’s heart stutters, and the tips of his ears go hot. All of Harry’s cookery things are in a box in the back of Nick’s hall coat closet. He’d been so pathetic the first week after Harry left that the sight of a green frying pan nearly sent him over the deep end, so he’d packed up all of Harry’s things and put them in a box to give back to Harry when he came back home. Apparently Nick had never factored in the _amnesia_.

“Yeah, you know how useless I am in the kitchen. I just moved them, so I’d have more space when you were away,” Nick lies. He bites his tongue and tries not to feel ill at how easily Harry believes what he’s saying. Maybe Nick should call Louis and tell him he can’t do this anymore. This can’t be good for anyone. 

“Makes sense,” Harry agrees. He flicks the heat off on the stove and reaches into the cabinet for two plates for their lunch. Nick’s not paying attention, so he misses when Harry sneaks into his space, pressing his body in tight to Nick’s, and tilts his head up for a fast kiss. He catches Nick’s mouth, and Nick can’t stop himself. It’s been so long, and it’s an instinct to just kiss Harry back when Harry’s leaning into him like this. Nick makes it a few seconds before he feels like such a shit that he pulls away, pushing against Harry’s shoulder when he tries to kiss him again. 

“Heyyy.” Harry frowns. “You’ve been blowing me off since I got back. Why won’t you kiss me?”

Nick clucks his tongue and tries for his best lighthearted tone. “I just don’t think it’s the best idea right now, sweetheart. You’ve still got all your marbles knocked all around, and I just – I don’t think it’s smart. Plus, I try and make it one of the few rules to live by: thou shalt not snog amnesiac popstars in thou’s kitchen.”

Harry rolls his eyes and huffs, but he’s smiling as he does it, so Nick knows he’s not really cross. “Fine, fine. Stupid bloody amnesia,” he mutters, “I wish I’d just get all my memories back, so things could go back to normal. I hate that I’m finally home and have this big stupid thing hanging over our heads.” Nick opens his mouth to see if Harry wants to talk about the amnesia more - because he’s ok with that, if that’s what Harry wants Nick will give it to him – but Harry just waves his hand around and wanders over to the fridge, pulling the door open and peering inside. 

“Looks like you’ve got white wine and Diet Coke to drink.” He looks back over his shoulder and grins brightly. “Which one do you want?”

The wine. Nick really, really, _really_ wants the wine. 

“A Diet Coke would be great,” he says around a sigh. Harry smiles and grabs Nick a can from the fridge, and Nick thinks that this is fine. It’s just lunch. And then there will be dinner and then bed and this is just – Nick can do this. How much worse can it possibly get?

*

It gets worse. It gets so, so, _so_ much worse. It gets so bad that Nick finds himself wishing back for earlier in the day when he thought it was bad because my god, past Nick didn’t know how good he had it. Present Nick wants to go back in time and explain to past Nick that Harry was being fairly easy on him and well behaved and that he should appreciate it, should thank his bloody lucky stars even. 

After they ate lunch Harry fell asleep on the sofa watching an episode of Cupcake Wars, and Nick texted furiously with Louis for an hour and a half until Harry woke up.

_He’s asleep again. Do you think that’s all right??_

_It is unless he’s sleeping because you’ve slipped something in his drink. HAVE YOU SLIPPED SOMETHING IN HIS DRINK GRIMSHAW???_

_No you fucking twatty arsehole. I’m more worried about his GAPING HEAD WOUND or are you so daft you can’t figure that out, princess_

_His head is fine, YOU’RE the wound_

_That doesn’t even make SENSE_

_God I really don’t like you > : ( liam says I have to be nice to you but when this is over I’m boycotting your face for life_

_Oh no, boo hoo, so sad, soz I have to go now so I can weep myself to sleep : (_

So…that didn’t prove much, actually, and only really served to remind Nick how much he genuinely hates Harry’s best mate. 

(All right, fine. He doesn’t hate Louis. Louis kind of rubs him the wrong way, and Nick’s about a hundred and fifty percent sure Louis hates him so he hates him back just on principle. That’s all really.)

The worst part is that dealing with Louis isn’t even the worst part of the night. 

The _worst_ part is Harry. Harry, who apparently woke up and decided that he was going to physically remind Nick of his presence at every given moment. Harry, who insists they call for takeaway and then proceeds to get them both tipsy on every last drop of wine Nick’s got in his flat. 

Harry who cuddles up to Nick on the sofa, his toes poking under Nick’s thigh, his fingers curled light around Nick’s wrist. 

Harry who’s being just so _Harry_ , leaning into Nick’s space, smiling mouth and flushed cheeks and crinkly eyed grin. He’s everything that Nick fell in love with, every single part of him is right here so close Nick could reach out and touch him if he wanted, but he can’t let himself. Nick can’t let his guard down, can’t do anything until Harry bloody _remembers_ , and that right there is the worst part: knowing that when Harry does remember he’s not going to want any of this at all. 

Harry falls asleep on the sofa that night, and Nick tucks him in, wrapping a blanket around him and slipping his shoes off before padding into his bedroom where he stares morosely up at the ceiling until his alarm goes off the next morning. 

*

“Soooo…” Finchy grins at him, flapping his hands around in the air like a mental patient. “How’s the popstar?”

Nick drops his head into the palm of his hand. He loves his job and loves Finchy, but he’s not had a decent minute’s rest since he answered Louis’ call that first day; trying to talk about it casually with Finchy might be a little much to ask him to deal with. 

“Fine,” Nick says curtly. He glances over the links he needs for the morning and queues up the first song. 

“Have you two kissed and made up yet?” Finchy continues. “Had some big long rom com moment and expressed your true feelings and all that?” 

And the thing is, Nick knows he’s just taking the piss. He knows that, but Finchy teasing him about Harry is like poking a bruise right now and Nick’s not got the strength to deal with it. 

“No, Matt, because he’s got bloody _amnesia_ , all right?” Nick snaps. Finchy leans back a little, surprised, and Nick should stop, he should, but he just can’t. “He’s hurt, and he doesn’t remember a thing about the past six months of his life including how incredibly awful things had gotten with us, and I just— _ugh_ , never mind. ”

Finchy is quiet for a long moment. The silence hangs thick in the air until Laura taps her mic and says, “Grimmy, you’re on in two.” 

Nick turns away from him, swallowing down the hot lump of shame he feels, and leads in with his good mornings.

*

Nick finds Finchy as soon as the show is over to apologize, but Finchy waves him off. 

“No worries, mate,” he says easily, and Nick really and truly loves him. “I was taking the piss, but I know it must be hard. He’s not remembered anything from the past few months then yet?”

Nick shakes his head. Finchy knows as well as anyone what Nick was like when Harry first left. He appreciates that he’s not bringing it up again now. “Nothing.”

Finchy nods and fiddles with some papers, then says, “And you don’t think – I mean, I know what you said at first, that you were just going to wait to see what he remembered on his own, but you don’t think it would, I don’t know, help jog his memory if you talked to him about things? Like, maybe if you reminded him—“

And that – Nick can’t think about that. “I don’t know,” he says instead. “Maybe.”

“I just think it could be good,” Finchy adds. “Get things out in the open.”

Nick bites his lip and tries not to think for just a little longer. 

*

In the end it doesn’t really matter what Nick decides on, because Harry figures everything out on his own. 

Nick gets back to the flat that afternoon and instantly knows something is wrong. Where yesterday there was the sizzle of lunch on the stove and the soft sound of music filtering through the background today there’s nothing but silence, hanging thick and heavy in the air. 

He puts his keys and jacket down and wanders through the flat until he finds Harry sat cross legged on the bed, staring silently into a box. 

Into _the_ box.

Nick feels sick. His stomach goes sour and his face and chest go hot and sweaty. He thinks his hands are shaking, so he shoves them into his pockets and licks his lips nervously when Harry looks up at him, skin pale and drawn, eyes dull. 

“What is all this?” Harry’s voice is genuinely confused. He blinks at Nick, and Nick can see then the tremble in Harry’s fingers as they pick through the box, pulling out pictures of the two of them, the ring Harry’d given Nick for Christmas, all the papers and receipts and tickets of things they’d gone to together. “I mean, I kept looking around the flat and thinking things looked different, weird for some reason, but I figured it was because I wasn’t remembering things right. But that’s not it, is it?” Harry’s blinking at him now, eyes wide and green and wet. “I was missing things because you took them down.”

“Harry—“

“No, no, I mean, I got it. I just—” He takes a deep breath and then blows it out shakily. “Were you planning on breaking up with me when I got home? Were you going to do it then, but then felt like you couldn’t because of the amnesia? Or…I don’t know; did you meet someone else? Or—“

“No, Harry, no.” Nick can’t take it. He physically cannot stand to watch Harry sit there and think he’s found someone else, someone to _replace_ him. “I just – I didn’t want to tell you everything because I thought it would upset you. I didn’t want to remind you that we…” He trails off because apparently in six months it’s not gotten one bit easier to say. 

Harry swallows thickly and stares at him. His fingers are curled around one of the pictures of Harry from his last birthday, the two of them sprawled out on Harry’s mum’s sofa after his family birthday dinner. Nick’s eyes are closed, Harry’s face is tucked into his neck, and they’re curled together so close Nick can’t tell any of their limbs apart. 

“That we what?” Harry asks quietly.

Nick swallows past the lump in his throat. “That we broke up.”

Everything goes quiet. The clocks stop ticking, the air stops moving, and Nick stops breathing he feels like. 

“We did?”

Nick nods. “Just before tour. We’d been talking and we decided.” _I decided_ , Nick should be saying. _I chose this and I decided and I fucked it all up_ , but it’s easier to let it sound like they both agreed to it, that they were both okay about it, because Nick is nothing if not a coward when it comes to Harry. 

“We decided to what?” Harry asks. “To just end it?”

Nick nods. “Yeah.”

Harry’s still for a minute. He gently put the picture back in the box and gathers up the rest of the photos and papers and receipts. When they’re all together he closes the lid and slides off the bed quietly, slipping on a pair of trainers and rubbing a hand through his hair. 

“I’m. I’m really sorry then,” he says thickly. Nick can hear his voice wobble, and he wants to tell Harry he takes it all back, that he didn’t mean it, that he messed it up then and he’s messing it up again now, but he can’t. Harry needs to remember what happened on his own. He needs to make his own decisions about this. “Sorry that I came here if you didn’t want me to and—“

“No, Harry, I always want you here, yeah?” Nick rushes to say. Harry’s shaking his head though, his mobile already out of his pocket, and he’s shooting off a fast message then shoving it back. 

“I just...” He licks his lips and looks down, away from Nick, so Nick can’t see his face or his eyes. “I should go. I’m going to go.”

Nick wants to stop him. He wants to but he knows he shouldn’t, so he lets him leave.

*

The worst part about it all is that Nick never wanted this. 

Because sure, he was the one who suggested that maybe it would be a good idea if they didn’t keep things quite so serious when Harry was away touring the bloody _world_. He’d thought about it and weighed the pros and cons, and while he was going to miss Harry—and god, was he going to miss Harry—he was going to miss Harry _anyway_. No matter what Harry was leaving. He was going, and Nick wasn’t going to have him. 

He thought he’d been doing the right thing. He wasn’t going to have Harry at all, but at least this way Harry could be free to do whatever it was that he wanted. Nick figured he’d talk to Harry and Harry would be upset at first, but then he’d think about it and realize it was all for the best and he’d go off on his tour and they’d still text and tweet and leave each other messages and be friends, at least. 

That wasn’t what happened at all. 

Nick possibly misjudged the depth of Harry’s feelings, or misjudged the depth of Harry’s feelings for _Nick_ , at least. He’d listened to Nick talking quietly, his face growing paler and more withdrawn the longer Nick spoke. 

“And that’s…that’s what you want,” Harry finally said, voice smudged like a bruise. 

_No_ , Nick thought, _No, it’s not_ , but he forced himself to smile and nod and say yes. He kept smiling and easing Harry through it when Harry packed, told himself that Harry wasn’t really that upset, that he’d realize Nick was right after a while. Harry would still be Nick’s friend, at least. Nick would always have that, and that’s what kept him going the entire time Harry packed his things and left Nick’s flat, bottom lip bitten raw between his teeth and eyes wet and damp. 

Nick tried to call Harry and keep in touch, but Harry was apparently more hurt than Nick had anticipated. He never answered any of Nick’s calls and every single one of Nick’s texts floated off into the air, not one of them earning a response. 

Nick couldn’t be upset with Harry about it, not when the whole situation was what Nick had asked for, but it just. That wasn’t what Nick meant. He’d meant for it to be easier for Harry, not to have Harry cut him out completely. The worst part about it was that by the time Nick realized how badly he’d screwed up it was already too late. 

*

He waits until dinnertime to ring Louis and make sure Harry is there. Louis answers on the third ring, with such a falsely chipper and bright tone Nick is certain Harry’s there, if not right next to him in the same room. Nick closes his eyes and bangs his head against the kitchen cabinet for a second.

“He’s with you, yeah?” Nick asks, not even bothering to say hello. 

Louis snorts a little. “Yeah, he’s here.”

“I didn’t tell him,” Nick rushes to say. He’s got no idea why, but making sure Louis knows that Nick didn’t fuck this up – that this part at least is not on Nick’s head – is important. “I think he just—“

“No, I know,” Louis interrupts. “He told me what happened.”

Nick rubs a hand against his mouth. “Ah. Ok,” he says. He expects Louis to say something else. Louis is nothing if not mouthy, but he’s quiet and that throws Nick off. “Is he…” he takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut, “Is he all right?”

There’s a rustling, Louis moving into another room from the sounds of it because everything around him gets quiet, like he’s talking inside some sort of vacuum or cupboard. 

“He’s fine. It’s better this time so far.”

Nick feels his forehead scrunch up. “Yeah? Why?”

“Well because right now he’s just angry with you, which is fine,” Louis says blandly. “I figure I’ve got a few days before he starts moping around again like last time.”

Nick blows out a ragged breath. “I didn’t – I never meant it to happen the way it did,” he finally gets out. He’s expecting Louis’ sarcasm, his words hitting Nick like wounds, but instead he gets a sad sigh, and Louis saying, “I know you didn’t, mate.”

This sucks. This is just – the suckiest thing that’s ever happened to him. Nick tips his head back and blinks up at the ceiling. “Can you just - do me a favor and take care of him, Louis, all right?”

Louis sighs, soft and sad. “Yeah, Nick. I’ll do that.”

*

It takes three days of Nick moping around, back and forth to work and then home to sit on his sofa every day before Harry comes back. He’s just settled in with an entire pint of Haagen Daas chocolate fudge mocha chip and a bottle of merlot when there’s a knock at the door. 

Nick sighs and whines and trudges to his feet, expecting Aimee with her trying to be helpful face again. When he opens the front door and finds Harry standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hair pushed back and tucked under his bright blue beanie Nick blinks. He just – he hadn’t been expecting this is all. 

Harry clears his throat after the silence hangs a beat too long. “Hi. Can I, um. Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah. Yes, sure,” Nick steps back, letting Harry pass in front of him. He shuts the door when Harry is inside and runs a hand through his hair, wondering when he’d last combed it, or looked in a mirror. The fact that he honestly doesn’t remember can’t be a good thing. 

Harry’s standing in the middle of Nick’s living room, looking at the ice cream melting in the tub and the bottle of wine Nick’s still uncorked bottle of wine. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the back of the sofa, and when he turns back to look at Nick he looks almost angry. 

“So I think maybe you’re lying to me again,” Harry says flatly. Nick opens his mouth to protest, because he didn’t, he swears it., Harry shakes his head once sharply, and Nick keeps quiet. “Not about what happened, I definitely believe that now,” he says, chuckling sadly. “It might be taking me a while to get my memories back, but after I left here I talked to Louis and thought about what you’d said so yeah, I believe that we…broke up or whatever.”

Nick bites into his bottom lip. “Ah. All right. Then what do you think I’m lying about?”

“I don’t think it was as mutual as you’re trying to make me believe,” Harry says quietly. His eyes are wide and shining so, so green. “I don’t think I ever wanted to break up with you.”

“Harry—“

“No, Nick, listen. Just – just hear me out, all right?” Harry’s voice shakes a little, and Nick closes his mouth tight and nods. He has no idea how he’s going to live through this. “When I first woke up that day after the concert my head was killing me and when I got up to piss and get some parcetemol from the bathroom I caught sight of myself in the mirror and knew straight off something was wrong.”

Nick cocks his head to the side because this – he’d never heard this part of the story before. “How did you know?”

Harry laughs softly and shakes his head. Nick doesn’t realize what he’s doing until it’s already too late to stop it, and before he knows it Harry’s stood in his living room stripping off his shirt, chest and arms bare, pale skin covered in the dark sweeping lines of his tattoos. 

He’s got more, Nick realizes, so many more. Nick wants to touch them all, trace the edges with his fingers and teeth and tongue and beg Harry to tell him where he got each one, and what he was thinking about and what they mean. That’s the problem, Nick realizes suddenly, and a smile quirks his lips without his meaning to. 

“So you mean to say you realized you had amnesia because you didn’t recognize all the new tattoos you’d gotten?”

Harry grins, bright and stupid, and Nick’s chest hurts with how much he loves him still. “Yeah, crazy, right? I just. I didn’t instantly think _oh, sure, must have amnesia_. Christ, but I did think something was wrong. That’s when I went to find Zayn and then he called the others and just. Well. You know the rest.”

Nick nods. He certainly does know the rest. 

“I spent like, all morning, staring at the tattoos, trying to remember something about them; anything, really. And I couldn’t figure any of them out except for one.” Nick takes a step closer. He can see Harry’s chest hitching as he breathes. His eyes catch on a little fish curled into Harry’s left shoulder, the lyrics to something gone up and down the inside of his right bicep. Harry taps his chest lightly, just under the bird on his left side, curling up over his heart. 

“I’ve got an anchor here, now, and as much as I didn’t remember anything, I knew it was for you.”

Nick lifts his eyes to stare at Harry. Harry’s biting his lip, and the fingers of his right hand are curling and uncurling in a fist against his hip. Nick walks closer and leans in and there it is, a tiny black anchor, small enough that you wouldn’t be able to tell what it was unless you were right up close against him. Nick’s stomach drops to his feet, his breath punches hard in his chest. 

“I couldn’t remember anything, or where I’d gotten it or when, but I knew it was for you,” Harry says quietly. He reaches out for Nick with his hand and Nick can’t stop himself; he lets his fingers curl with Harry’s, twisting them together tight. “And for some reason it felt sad, almost? But I get why now, at least.” He takes a deep breath. "And I think – I’m pretty sure I still loved you then no matter what you said,” Harry says bravely. Nick swallows hard, pulls Harry in even closer by his hand. “I know I still love you now,” he says softly, “And I don’t understand why we weren’t together, and if you don’t love me anymore, I mean, I guess that changes things—“

“That’s not it,” Nick interrupts, because he can’t take it anymore. No matter what’s happened, Nick’s always loved Harry; that should never be a question. “I love you, of course I do. I could never stop.”

“Oh,” Harry breathes out, shaky and relieved. “All right. Good.”

Nick feels himself smiling; he doesn’t think he could stop it from happening if he tried. 

“Then can you please kiss me then?” Harry asks. His fingers are shaking when they fall to Nick’s waist, and his bottom lip is wobbling the smallest amount. “Because I’ve been here for days and I’ve missed you so much and I just really want you to kiss me.”

“Harry,” Nick says gently, before dipping his head and covering Harry’s mouth with his own. And it’s not their first kiss – they’ve probably had more kisses than they can count by now – but it’s the first in so long. It’s the one that Nick never expected to get again, and it’s just – it’s everything. 

Harry opens his mouth to Nick with a needy little whimper, his breath catching hard in his throat. Nick slides his tongue against Harry’s, his fingers flitting up and down Harry’s spine, pressing into the dips between his ribs, holding Harry tight enough against him that Harry won’t doubt him again, that he’ll know how much Nick loves him back. 

“I’m sorry,” Nick says against Harry’s lips. “I’m so sorry. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, you wanker.” Harry pulls back with a little smile. “I mean, I think I did. That’s what I’ve heard, at least.”

“Ha ha ha.” Nick rolls his eyes. Harry laughs softly, tipping his head up to kiss Nick again soundly on the mouth. 

“Don’t do that again,” Harry warns. He narrows his eyes and pokes a finger into Nick’s chest. “That was stupid; your whole idea was bollocks. I can’t believe I went along with it at all.”

Nick wants to try and defend himself, but Harry’s right: his idea was kind of bollocks. He tilts his head to the side and grins, running his knuckles gently down Harry’s cheek. “At least we know how to get you to stop being cross with me now.” Harry scrunches his face up, and Nick says, “Just give you a little whack on the head and knock the memory right out of your ears. It’ll be smooth sailing from here on out.”

Harry stares at him, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. “Are you actually saying you’d rather give me _amnesia_ than try and figure out how not to be an arsehole? Because I have to tell you, Nick, I might not remember for sure, but I don’t think that’s the best idea you’ve ever—“

Nick quiets him with a kiss, Harry’s lips curling into a grin against Nick’s mouth. “All right, popstar,” Nick says happily. “Maybe we’ll work on getting your memory back and keeping it this time.” He slips his hands into Harry’s hair and touches their foreheads together. 

“Yeah. Maybe We’ll work on that,” Harry says and smiles and kisses him again.

*

Nick wakes to the sunlight filtering in thorough his bedroom curtains and Harry propped up on an elbow frowning down at Nick’s face. 

“Um. Hello?” Nick blinks sleepily. Harry grunts and pokes Nick hard in the chest. 

“You’re an idiot.”

Nick stares at him. “Good morning?”

“You actually said the phrase: _it’s not you it’s me_ ,” Harry huffs. “You compared us to _two ships passing in the night, always missing the other’s port_. My god, Nick, I remember now, and I _didn’t_ want to break up and I can’t _believe_ I let you talk me into it. Your plan was shit.” 

“Ahh,” Nick rubs a hand over his mouth and tries to coax Harry into smiling. He reaches out and runs his fingers over Harry’s cheek. Harry’s skin is so warm, the slight prickle of stubble ticking Nick’s fingertips. He curls his hand over the back of Harry’s neck and tugs him down, kissing his mouth sweetly. “Memory’s come back now, I see.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry grumps. “And I’m now fully reminded of how much of an arsehole you were and how crap your plan was, and what an entire load of bullshit the past six months have been.” His eyes wrinkle into a frown. “I also remembered that I got this stupid fish tattoo because I lost a bet to Zayn but I’ll deal with him about that later.”

Nick’s startled into a laugh, quick and bright and Harry smiles with him, leaning down to cover Nick’s body with his. They’re both in nothing but boxers, bodies sleep warm and comfortable under Nick’s duvet and sheets. Harry slides a leg between Nick’s and Nick rocks his hips up, his dick already fattening up in his boxers. 

“Any other life changing memories come back to you that you want to share?” Nick teases. 

Harry’s eyes are bright and glittering green. He dips his head down and kisses Nick hotly, sinking one hand into Nick’s hair and the other curled over Nick’s hip. “Just that I love you,” Harry says quietly, and the breath shakes restlessly in Nick’s chest. “Not that I ever really forgot that, though.”

“Harry…” Nick’s voice has gone wobbly. He breathes deep and fits his hands over Harry’s hips, pulling him in so their dicks are lined together, pushing up into the crease of Harry’s hip and thigh. 

“Ssh, shut up, you’ve got plenty of time to apologize and make it up to me later,” Harry’s voice is slow and deep. Nick’s missed having Harry’s voice in his ear; has missed having this boy in his bed. “Now you should just make me come because I’m hungry and you need to take me somewhere to get me some food.”

“Christ, such a romantic,” Nick says, mouth curling into a grin. He laughs as they both fumble to shove their pants down, hands flitting over skin, Nick’s nails scratching over Harry’s back, Harry’s teeth digging into Nick’s lip, licking inside Nick’s mouth, moaning as their tongues slide against each other. 

Harry’s dick is thick and hard next to his and Nick reaches down to curl his fingers around the both of them. Harry gasps when Nick touches him, his eyes fluttering closed, head tipping down to rest on Nick’s shoulder, his breath warm on Nick’s skin. 

“Fuck, this is gonna be over so fast,” Harry whines. He’s rocking into Nick’s fist desperately, hips already stuttering, the head of his dick come slick and wet. Nick drags his thumb over it and Harry shudders, comes with a soft cry into Nick’s shoulder, his teeth dragging over the damp skin. Nick doesn’t last much longer, Harry’s solid weight pressing him into the bed as a reminder that he’s here, he’s back and Nick didn’t fuck it up so badly that he’s gone and left him for good, and it’s that thought that has Nick coming over his fingers, between their bellies, slick and hot. 

Harry flops onto his back after a minute, and Nick grins up at the ceiling as his skin cools and his heart rate slows to normal . Harry’s mobile’s been buzzing with text messages for the past few minutes, and he feels the bed dip, the covers rustle as Harry sits up and gives Nick an apologetic face over his shoulder. 

“Sorry, I texted my mum before you got up to tell her my memory’s come back so she’s been ringing.”

Nick waves him off, sitting up and letting the sheets fall around his waist. He should really get up and get a flannel so they can clean off, but then Harry’s climbing from the bed completely starkers and rifling through Nick’s bureau for a shirt and a clean pair of pants and pulling them on so apparently they’re skipping the cleaning up today. Good to know. 

“I’m just going to go get the water on,” Harry says quietly to Nick, before turning his attention back to his mobile, his face breaking out into a wide grin when he says, “Mum, hi, yeah, everything came back overnight when I was sleeping.” He’s quiet for a second, and then, “No, really, I’ve got no idea what did it…” he trails from the room and through the rest of the flat, his voice getting softer and softer the further he gets. 

Nick scrubs a hand through his hair and reaches for his own mobile, flicking it on and getting more than slightly alarmed when it starts vibrating non-stop in his hand. 

_so harry says he’s got his memory back_

_GOOD FUCKING LUCK MATE. YOU WERE A RIGHT TWAT THERE FOR A WHILE. I HOPE HE PUNCHES YOU IN YOUR STUPID NOSE_

_All right. Sorry. Liam says that last bit was uncalled for. BUT STILL DON’T BE A TIT AGAIN OR I WILL PERSONALLY LET NIALL CHOP OFF YOUR DICK LIKE HE SAID HE WOULD_

_Or maybe I would do it myself_

_YOU NEVER KNOW IS WHAT I AM SAYING. I COULD BE WAITING FOR YOU AT ANY TIME_

_Ok, again not really, Christ, liam’s ruining all my swag_

Nick bursts out laughing at that, because really? Louis thinks he has _swag_?

_and before you say it I DO HAVE SWAG GRIMSHAW SO PISS OFF_

_Seriously though, don’t hurt him again. god knows why but he really loves you_

Nick’s fingers are hovering over the keypad to try and begin to answer Louis when Harry’s voice cuts through the air, bright and happy. 

“I’ve got the kettle on but you better get dressed and take me for bacon sandwiches or I’m going to start a mutiny,” Harry calls out. “I’m hungry and you’ve got six months of kissing my arse to start in on, starting right fucking now.”

“I’m on it, popstar,” Nick calls back. He hops from the bed and pulls on a pair of joggers and a jumper and trainers. His keys and his wallet are out in the hall, and all he can think about is taking Harry someplace for breakfast, and then later lunch and then after that dinner. Nick figures he’s going to have to do that today and most likely every day from now on to start making it up to Harry.

Surprisingly enough, he’s more than ok with that. 

_don’t worry, I love him a lot too_ , Nick finally texts back. _also, fyi, listen to liam, there’s not an ounce of swag in that tiny little body of yours, Tomlinson, soz_.

He presses send and laughs as he walks down the hall, happier than he’s been in forever.

 

-end-


End file.
